


You Remind Me of Them

by StevetheIcecube



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Recovery, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StevetheIcecube/pseuds/StevetheIcecube
Summary: Sometimes, adjusting to a new group of people takes time, and the past is always hanging over everything that's said. Mikhail never expected to spend so much time with people who reminded him so much of what he lost.





	1. Pyra

**Author's Note:**

> Golden Country has destroyed me and I wanted to write Mikhail getting some closure on the stuff that happened to him. This will have a chapter for every major protagonist in Xenoblade Chronicles 2.

It was late, and Mikhail was just outside Torigoth. He could hear people bustling around just on the other side of the city wall; all of them had something to do, somewhere to be. Maybe he should be there too, but he felt like having a moment of peace and quiet. Things could get very hectic when trying to book a hefty handful of blades and drivers into an inn. Especially when they had at least one foreign dignitary and two ex-terrorists in their group.

So Mikhail sat and stared at the lake while the sun set. Being in Gormott never got old. It was so beautiful, and the air was clear. Out here, it could just be him, the breeze, and the warmth of the sun. It was so peaceful.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Mikhail would recognise that soft voice anywhere. Pyra, of course. Not Mythra. Mythra hadn’t spoken to him yet. He didn’t think he wanted to deal with that yet anyway.

“Be my guest,” he said, motioning to the ground next to him. She sat down almost daintily, looking off into the distance just as he had been doing. He tried to tear his eyes away from her, but he couldn’t. Architect, why couldn’t he just let the past go?

“It’s nice out here,” Pyra said. Okay. She was making small talk. He could deal with that. Mikhail reminded himself that pushing her away with his usual lines would just get him in trouble with everyone else in the group. Again.

“It is,” he said. “Gormott’s nice, even if trekking across it is a chore and the Gogols are unfunny levels of awful.” Gogols stank. And they always fancied Mikhail’s chances in avoiding most of the attacks, so he was stuck fighting them.

“It’s definitely nice to be in Torigoth instead of out there in the plains,” she said. “There’s something so homey about this village. Everyone is so friendly, it’s a refreshing change.”

“Definitely a change from monsters,” he said. He decided not to mention that he didn’t really like talking to the people of Torigoth; after one very close call, he was constantly on edge about being recognised as a member of Torna, and honestly he found them a bit overbearing. Torigoth was full of stifling wealth problems and they were held under Ardainian rule, but he couldn’t exactly say or do anything about that.

They lapsed into silence for a while, just watching the sun set. This was fine. He could stand being around her if it was going to be like this. Hell, he could stand being around anyone if they just didn’t say anything. “Was it Gormott, where we separated?” Pyra asked. “I...my memory of that is very fuzzy. I just remember it was bright and green.”

“There were lots of green places in Alrest that long ago,” he said. He couldn’t let go of the past, but he really didn’t want to talk about it. Being with Rex and all his companions reminded him too much of the past anyway. Made him feel like he was three foot nothing again, hiding behind everything he could find.

“What...what happened after we left? If you don’t mind me asking.” He did mind. He didn’t want to talk about it. Even thinking about it still hurt. But he...he supposed Pyra deserved to know. For the sake of closure.

“We travelled to the place where the militia were encamped,” he said. “But when we arrived, Indol attacked. I don’t know what exactly happened, because Jin didn’t spell it out to me, but I think most of the militia were killed. Haze was protecting me, but then she-” he forced himself to break off.

“And that’s how you ended up…?” Pyra tapped her own chest, where her core crystal sat. Mikhail nodded. Pyra looked away again, staring up at the sky. “And Amalthus did that?”

“The snake, yes,” he said, tempted to spit on the ground. There was still no way for him to properly express his loathing for Amalthus. That man deserved everything that came for him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Mikhail’s heart nearly stopped. How many years had he spent imagining those words? As his life dragged on, he’d given up on ever hearing it. He wasn’t sure if he was even glad, now he had.

“Excuse me?” He said. Who did she think she was, apologising for something that happened so long ago? It couldn’t be changed now. Everything that had happened since couldn’t be reversed. Her apology did nothing to change what had happened.

Pyra sighed and looked down at her hands, which were twisting in her lap. Mikhail tore his eyes away from her. He didn’t know what to do now he’d been confronted by this situation. “I’m sorry about what happened. That we left, when it was when we were needed most of all.”

Mikhail tried not to roll his eyes. “Doesn’t change a damn thing,” he said. Pyra made a sound that hurt him but he couldn’t quite process what it meant. “You’re sorry you left, because when you left, we lost everything we hadn’t already lost. But what about Torna? What about-”

“I can’t do anything about that,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I can’t bring them back. I can’t bring him back. But- I did something irresponsible. And I thought I should apologise, so you know that I mean it when I say I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I would have stayed if I’d known.”

“And what are you expecting in return?” He asked. “Am I meant to accept your apology? Say no, of course, it was totally fine that everything happened and you just ducked out of it for five hundred damned years?” He stood up, knowing that going back to the inn would be nothing but a bad idea at this point. He wouldn’t exactly get any sympathy from those saps. “Don’t expect me to forgive you for what you did just because we’re allies.”

He walked away, heading towards the lake, and he didn’t look back. If he showed up in Torigoth tomorrow morning, he was sure they’d all act like nothing had happened. And maybe it was immature, maybe he was meant to be the grown up and forgive her. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t think he’d be able to move past it for the rest of his life.


	2. Rex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex wants to know what Addam is like.

Leftheria was, frankly, way too cold at night. It was fine during the day, sure, if a little chilly at this time of year, but at night? Freezing. Mikhail was very much used to living indoors, or at least spending most of his time somewhere that was warm. But Rex said it was too dangerous to stop for the night, and apparently the fifteen year old (or fifteen and a half, as Rex had insisted) called the shots here, so they had to continue.

After a while of making their way through the cold, dark archipelago, Rex fell into step with him, which wasn’t unusual. Rex was always, always trying to talk to the people of the group. It was basically impossible to get him to leave him alone when he didn’t want to talk (most of the time, honestly).

“What was Addam like?” He asked. “You said you knew him, once, so, you know. I was wondering what he was like, ‘cause Mythra won’t tell me and Pyra didn’t really know him.”

Mikhail wanted to say that if Mythra didn’t want him to know about Addam there was probably a good reason, but he couldn’t think of said good reason. Then again, he didn’t exactly want to answer the question anyway. “You know it was five hundred years ago, right?” He said, and Rex nodded. “How much do you remember of five years ago?”

“I started my proper salvaging training,” Rex said, a clear indignant tone to his voice. “I got up close to dawn every morning and practised jumping all morning before collecting scrap and doing odd jobs in the afternoon to save up money for cylinders.”

“That’s not my point,” he said. “I can’t remember everything that happened in the past. It really was a long time ago.” He could remember a fair amount about Addam. But he doubted it would be what Rex wanted to hear.

“But blades don’t have human memory,” Rex said. “They record information in core crystals, don’t they?” Mik wanted to point out that he wasn’t strictly a blade, but since that day things had been...different, even if he hadn’t realised it immediately.

“That was after,” he said. Architect, the kid was persistent. Rex really was bad at just taking the hint. “Addam was a prince, and I was a little kid. There’s really not much to say.” That was a lie, but thinking about it made him realise what a bad idea it was to tell Rex about Addam, or about the past in general. The kid’s boundless optimism was his greatest asset, whether he realised it or not.

“Addam was a prince?” Rex asked, his eyes alight. And of course, Mikhail chose that moment to look at him. Looking up at him like that, he couldn’t deny Rex at least a bit of information, damn it. He looked far too much like Addam and definitely way too hopeful.

Mikhail sighed. “Fine, then. But don’t blame me if my facts are wrong, it was a long time ago, and Mythra definitely remembers him better.” Rex cheered, and Brighid looked round, fixing him with a Look. Being too loud would attract monsters.

“What did he look like?” Rex asked. He was way, way too excited about this.  
“Hell if I know,” Mikhail said with a short laugh. “He was tall? He had big arms, and white hair.” He hadn’t realised quite how little of that time he actually remembered now. Maybe Addam hadn’t been tall; it wasn’t like his height had been anything to shout about at the time.

“Ah, okay,” Rex said with a shrug. “Pyra said that Addam and I were similar. Guess I’ve got a bit of growing to go until I get there, then.”

Mikhail thought for a moment. They probably were quite similar. He hadn’t been paying much attention when he was younger, honestly. “No, you’re pretty similar,” he said. “Addam’s fashion sense was awful too, and he had golden eyes and a dumb grin.”

Rex huffed. “Unfair,” he said. “This is an outfit for a professional always ready to act.” Mikhail rolled his eyes. Anyone could salvage with enough practise, Rex just probably didn’t have anything else to wear. “Okay, but what was Addam like?”

“Friendly,” Mikhail said. “Like, really friendly. The kind of guy who’d see a kid and immediately help them with anything they needed, and get really stuck in with it too, even if it seemed really dull.

“He didn’t really care about ceremony. He’d pick anyone up off the street if they thought they could do a job properly. Or if they weren’t doing anything at all, but still wanted to come along. He had a real goofy sense of humour, but he was serious too, and an absolute crybaby.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember him,” Rex said with a grin, and Mikhail just rolled his eyes at him. Rex was probably completely aware that he’d been trying to avoid talking about it. “He sounds nice. A real hero, I guess.”

The ‘unlike me’ was implicit in Rex’s words, and Mikhail wasn’t the most compassionate person out there, but he got the feeling that Rex had been surrounded by a lot of comparisons to Addam since he awakened Pyra. “He couldn’t do everything,” Mikhail said. I never actually- saw it happen or anything, but there was a reason he sealed that sword away. He couldn’t use it.”

“Did something happen?” Rex asked. Architect, the kid was way too curious for his own good. This was not something he would tell Rex. If anything, that had to come from Mythra. And he very much doubted she’d be willing to share, all things considered.

“I have no idea,” he lied, turning his eyes up towards the stars above them. Hopefully Rex would leave it. “I wasn’t around all the time.”

“Mythra said you were stuck to them like glue,” Rex said, folding his arms. Mikhail shot a glare at the back of Mythra’s head. He didn’t think she’d quite earned the privilege to share childhood stories about him.

“Mythra would know the answer to that,” he said firmly. “I don’t have anything to say about it.” He didn’t feel even a scrap of remorse for lying. He didn’t like Mythra, but what happened before she was sealed away was not a story he had the right to tell. At least, not to her current driver. If anything, she’d have to face up to the consequences of that one herself.

“Addam was a good man, kid,” Mikhail said. “But like anyone, he wasn’t perfect. Work from your own strengths and weaknesses, not someone else’s.” Rex’s grin at that could have put the sun to shame.


	3. Nia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail watches Rex and Nia fight together and she comes to talk to him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one definitely can't be described as canon or anything, but there are a couple ideas here I wanted to play with in terms of Mikhail as a blade.

Mikhail watched, impressed as always, as Rex and Nia whirled around each other, passing the glowing scimitar back and forth, until Rex finally landed the final blow. He grinned before passing the weapon back to Nia, where she sheathed it. It was a real feat of coordination, not to mention the amount of ether they kicked out in an attack like that. It damn near made him lose focus every time, and he’d been around Jin when he’d kicked it into overdrive before.

Watching the Ardun fall to the ground, Mikhail tucked his own weapons back into his belt. That looked to be the last creature in their path before they reached the spot they’d determined at the start of the day as their camp for the night. He was definitely looking forward to a chance to sit down.

Once he’d reserved his spot for the night (close to the edge of the camp, facing away from where the sun was due to rise in the morning), Nia came over to sit by him. At this point, Mikhail was starting to think that the group had decided to each check in on him at a certain point every day to make sure he wasn’t plotting to murder them or something. It was decidedly annoying.

“Everything alright?” Nia asked. She’d reverted back to the form he was more used to seeing her take, which was probably more comfortable for her. It definitely looked a lot warmer.

“Of course,” he said. It wasn’t like there was cause to be concerned for him, considering that he’d survived an explosion without even a crack to his core crystal. “Why’d you ask?”

“It’s just sorta weird having you here,” Nia said. “Seeing a blade fight with their own weapon instead of the way we normally do it.” The question was implicit; why didn’t he let someone wield his blade weapons? It was easier to do combat that way, with a blade channeling ether to a person.

“I’m just used to it this way,” he said. “I offered to let Mòrag wield my blade, but tragically she turned me down.”

“You’re gross, Mikhail,” Nia said firmly, and Mikhail just laughed. “I get whatcha mean with not being used to it, though. I might have accidentally stabbed Rex a couple times with my weapon when we were practising, not gonna lie to you.”

Mikhail let out a laugh. “And that’s you,” he said. “Only one other person has ever wielded my blade weapons, and that was more for a disguise than anything else.” Letting go of his weapons felt wrong. They belonged in his hands because he was his own blade and his own driver.

“Was that someone from Torna?” She asked, and Mikhail nodded. “Wow. There really was a lot I didn’t know about you guys, huh?”

“You were only around for a couple of weeks,” he said with a shrug. “It’s been several centuries since I’ve pretended I had a driver. It doesn’t tend to come up in conversation very often.”

“Did it just go back to normal when I was gone?” Nia asked. “In Torna, I mean. Everything was so tense when I was there.”

“Thats’s what it was always like.” Architect, talking about this didn’t exactly make him the happiest of people. He missed them. A lot. “It’s rather challenging to be chilled out around Jin and Malos, even at the best of times.”

“I know they were your family and all, but I’m glad I got out of there,” Nia said. “Things have been good, here with Rex. Better than they’d been for a long time, honestly.”

Mikhail nodded. If he was being honest, he’d never held it against Nia that she’d left. It wasn’t the right crowd for her when she still had so much hope for the world. Loyalty to Jin couldn’t take you as far as trying to kill the Architect. “Sometimes in this world you have to put yourself first,” he admitted.

“Maybe you should try doing that at some point,” Nia said. Right, that was the perfect time to look away and not make eye contact. He didn’t need comments like that getting to him. “Maybe when all of this is over. Take some time to work out what you need.”

The thought flitted across his mind that he hadn’t exactly been planning to live this long, but that definitely wasn’t the kind of thought he wanted to voice to Nia. Nice as she was, she would probably take it on herself to interfere. “I’ll have you know I’m a very selfish person,” he said.

Nia started laughing. Actually giggling, before she ended up almost doubled over. “Pull the other one, mate,” she said. “That’s a lie. You spent the whole time I was in Torna just trying to pick me up off the ground.”

Mikhail felt like it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that he hadn’t succeeded in that, or else Nia wouldn’t have felt the need to go elsewhere to feel happy. But he didn’t want to make her feel bad for taking that decision to improve her life. “You were sad all the time, I couldn’t just leave you to ruin the atmosphere.”

“You’re a real charmer,” Nia said, rolling her eyes.

“I do my best,” he said with a wink. Nia only groaned in response, ignoring him for a few minutes, probably mostly out of principle.

“You told me you hate the world,” Nia said, sounding thoughtful again. “So why are you always so bloody cheerful?”

Mikhail wanted to be able to laugh the question off like he usually did, but somehow Nia had managed to get to him. “Someone once told me that the world is always going to be bad,” he said, “and terrible things will always stick with you. That’s just how things are. But the only way to stop it piling up is to keep smiling. And he got me to promise to face the world with him, smiling.”

“Is he…?” Nia trailed off.

“Yeah,” he managed. “It was a long time ago. No big deal or anything.” That was a lie. “But what he said stuck with me, y’know?”

“I get it,” Nia said. “I’ll stop pestering you now. And remember you don’t have to be miserable all the time, Mik.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it,” he said, waving his hand at her. Architect, he wished she would leave. What was it about these stupidly earnest kids that got him so emotional, anyway?


	4. Dromarch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfortunate fall leaves Mikhail in the care of Dromarch for a short while.

“Aw, shit,” Mikhail muttered as the Gogol’s attack hit him as he twisted his body to the side, sending him flying off the edge of the cliff they were standing next to. All he had time to do was watch the ground get closer and closer to him and prepare himself for the shooting pain when he would inevitably hit it.

“Ow…” He must have fallen further than he’d initially calculated, because he came to seemingly a few moments later with an intense pain in his head and right arm. His first thought was to check around for Patroka making fun of him, but then he remembered. Right. Well, he was sure one of the saps would be down to check on him soon enough.

Architect, that really had been a bad move. He rolled over onto his back and his arm was screaming with pain. He’d fallen from the top of the World Tree and through the Cloud Sea with barely a headache to speak of, but falling from one measly cliff in Gormott was apparently out of the question.

He’d fallen just next to the lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Thankfully there was nothing in the vicinity that could hurt him, at least for now. He should probably work on getting somewhere a little more sheltered, but his head was absolutely pounding.

“Mikhail!” The voice came from far above him - Rex, shouting down from the top of the cliff. He looked up, squinting against the sunlight before waving as cheerfully as he could manage with his left arm. “We’ll just be a moment!” Great. Well, thankfully he wasn’t in imminent danger, because if he had been he didn’t rate his chances right now.

It took the group just under an hour to make their way safely down to the lakeside which Mikhail had managed to reach in only a few seconds. He had a suspicious feeling that they’d probably stopped off along the way to do something else. In that time, his head had cleared up a little bit, but for whatever reason he couldn’t heal himself with his own ether. His body better not be acting up now after all this time.

Mikhail was sitting with his back against the cliff edge when the group finally arrived, dashing down the slope. He hadn’t even tried to put his arm in any kind of brace because it made him feel slightly strange when he looked at it and the only softer material he was wearing was under his armour, which he obviously couldn’t take off. “You took your time,” he said, pushing himself up with his left hand and hoping he didn’t look too crap.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Rex said, rubbing the back of his head in the same guilty way he always did. “We got stopped. By Feris.” Mikhail could only roll his eyes. It wasn’t like they’d been able to do anything about it, he was sure. “Are you hur- oh.”

“Yeah, it hurts like a bitch,” Mikhail said, ignoring the glare that was shot at him by half the group, presumably for saying a bad word in front of Poppi. “I hit my head on the rocks too, but I’m not exactly weak and feeble. I’ll be fine.” He wouldn’t be able to fight for a bit, sure, and he didn’t know when it was going to heal because his ether levels had apparently gone on strike from shock or something, but it would be fine.

“No way,” Rex said. “We’re going back to Torigoth right now so Nia and Dromarch can deal with that properly.” He was definitely refusing to look at his arm. Huh. Must be worse than he thought, then. 

Progress back to the town was slow. Rex was taking immense pains to avoid any monster encounters, and Mikhail had to admit that maybe he was a tiny bit dizzy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t walk properly. Okay, he was very dizzy, but it was no big deal. Injuries happened. He was used to seeing blood.

He was very glad to collapse onto a bed in an inn the moment he got the chance, though. He would kill for a good night’s sleep right now, but apparently they were all very keen to make perfectly sure that he was okay before they just left him to it. Which was why Dromarch was now standing on the floor next to the bed, forcing him to sit upright while Nia went off to get things to deal with his arm.

“You have my thanks for what happened up there,” Dromarch said. “If anyone else had taken that hit, we may not be tending to a broken arm in this moment.”

“It shouldn’t have hit me at all,” he said with a shrug, and then winced because ow his arm really, really didn’t agree with that. “But thanks, I suppose. Better the turncoat than the steadfast ally and all that.”

“I meant that you are rather more hardy than other members of our party,” Dromarch said, and that was definitely a stern note in his voice. He was being told off by Nia’s blade now. Great. “And if you would hold still, I would be able to fix your head injury now.”

“I can heal my own injuries,” Mikhail said. Having anyone other than Akhos heal him felt wrong at this point. Fighting alongside the healers with Rex and his group just made his skin crawl because the ether was so unfamiliar.

“Not when you have a head injury,” Dromarch said. He definitely sounded like the long suffering party medic. Mik was willing to bet he’d probably had a similar discussion with Nia before. Sighing heavily, he just nodded, letting the cold sensation of Dromarch’s healing wash over him for a few minutes. It felt like being doused by cold, salty water, and it sucked, but after his head stopped whirling from the sensation, he felt a lot better.

“Nice,” he said, gingerly bringing his fingers up to the area that was no longer swollen. “Funny. Five hundred years and I’ve never had a head injury in the field. Then all of you show up and I’m falling off cliffs like there’s no tomorrow.”

“It certainly is a change,” Dromarch said. “Perhaps for the better, even for you. It has been a very positive experience for my lady.”

“What about you?” He asked. Dromarch mostly just tailed Nia around, from what Mikhail had seen, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have opinions on that kind of thing.

“It has certainly been fraught with danger,” he said, but he was clearly thinking about the question. “It’s been good overall. Meeting new people and having new experiences while seeing my lady happy in a way I have not experienced before is by far enough for me.”

“You know, Dromarch, you remind me of someone I used to know,” he said. Unending devotion. A happiness gained from the joy of others. Gentle, compassionate. Yep, they were startlingly similar, all things considered. “It didn’t end so well for her. But in this place, with these people? I think there’s a hell of a lot more hope this time round.”


	5. Tora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When destroying blade bots, Tora comes out with a comment that Mikhail objects to.

Mikhail wasn’t going to lie; it hurt a little, fighting the out of control blade bots that saw fit to rampage around Alrest. He’d spent many, many long hours labouring over designing, assembling, and ordering them, and now he was just scrapping them. Above all, perhaps, it had been really expensive to get all those ether furnaces and get that crook Bana to actually work on it.

“Ha! Take that, shoddy bolt bot!” Tora shouted, just as Poppi rocketed off the side of the cliff, sending the poor battered blade bot tumbling off the edge and to the ground far, far below, where the ether furnace could be heard exploding. Mikhail sighed. He wished he could save them, but hey. The control mechanism had probably been destroyed entirely with the explosion of the Marsanes.

“Those things aren’t shoddy, y’know,” he said, peering over the edge of the cliff. Poppi came shooting back up momentarily, a cluster of springs and metal plates held in her hands. “Sure, they’re mass produced, but they did what they were designed to perfectly well.”

“Bad guy Mik just not want to admit robots are bad,” Tora said with a huff. “Could never compare to high effort designs of Dadapon Tatazo!” Oh Architect, this Nopon was annoying. Mik could see why they kept him around, but personally he thought the negatives outweighed the benefits.

“I designed these,” he said, plucking one of the springs from Poppi’s outstretched hands. “Any guesses what they’re made for?”

“Dadapon make these,” Tora said, clearly not listening to a word Mikhail was saying. “Designed for multi purpose combat, mostly stabby-stabby, but made bad on purpose to have weak defence. Dadapon would not hand over precious optimisation work!”

“Aaaand wrong,” Mik said, trying not to enjoy lording his knowledge over the kid too much. “This is a blade bot. Specifically designed to combat a certain despicable individual who stole something from a friend of mine.”

“Pretty Fan lady?” Tora asked, and honestly Mikhail was surprised that he’d been paying that much attention.

“Yeah, Haze,” he said. “Indol have an army, assembled of soldiers and titans, and it was composed to stop people from reaching the World Tree. A battle in the skies above, if you would. So they’re designed for combat in flight, and outmaneuvering the Indoline flying titans. We’ve been fighting them stationary, on the ground, which isn’t what they’re for.”

“Mikhail is just hurt in the butt that Poppi is better than bad bots,” Tora said, puffing out his chest. And yes, maybe it was true that he was a little bit annoyed that Poppi was an absolute masterpiece of engineering and intelligence development created by a teenage Nopon in his shack of a home, but that wasn’t the only reason.

“Poppi’s cool, but there’s a limit on how long she can fly,” Mikhail said. “Blade bots are light enough and have internal stabilisers to just go on as long as they need. You can set them off and unless they get damaged in a couple of specific spots, they can stay up in the air theoretically forever.”

“Mikhail is wrong!” Tora said, jumping up and down. “Ether furnace need cooling. Cannot do that in midair, would cause complication in computing systems. Blade butt would drop right out of sky.”

“And that’s where you’re getting these things confused with Poppi,” he said. “These don’t have any of the hallmarks of an actual blade. They can’t channel ether, nor do they have direct consciousness. Their combat protocols were developed over several years of drills and training I did with a few originals. They don’t have any learning or adapting feature built in, at least not with these models.”

“...so processing needs significantly reduced?” Tora asked after a moment.

“Exactly,” he said. “Just running off established data. Poppi will have a lot of repeated data from things like walking, because she’s done it so often. She doesn’t need to walk any better, but she’ll keep collecting that optimisation data because that’s just how she’s built.”

“Poppi collecting data means she is more real blade and Tora more real driver than blade bots and Mikhail will ever be,” Tora said, and the pride in his voice made Mikhail rather inclined to punch him, even though he knew he really shouldn’t.

“The blade bots aren’t meant to be blades, Tora, that’s the whole point,” he said. “And I’m not sure if you missed the memo, but I’m also able to be a driver. Poppi is a great invention, but you don’t have to trash the stuff other people have made to justify that.”

“Mik just jealous, meh,” Tora said. It took Mikhail a lot of willpower to not boot the smug Nopon right off the side of the cliff, and the only thing that stopped him retaliating with some words definitely not suitable for ‘Poppi’s delicate ears’ was Mòrag very quickly making herself known.

“Ah, Mikhail, I wanted to discuss something with you,” she said, fixing him with a very pointed glare that, if Mik was a weaker man, would have made his knees shake. “I’d rather you stepped away from Tora before you used him for bitball practise.”

“Now there’s an idea,” he said, shooting Tora a very fake grin. Tora stumbled backwards slightly, but the smug look on his face remained. Mòrag turned away and walked a few paces away from Tora.

“I know Tora is abrasive, Mikhail, but you do have to work with him,” Mòrag said. “He is a valuable asset to our team and many things he has done have helped us out a lot in the long run.”

“You mean Poppi has helped,” he said. If anyone else was Poppi’s driver, in fact, Poppi might be even better. The only reason Tora was the person to be her driver was because he understood how she worked.

“Well, yes,” Mòrag said, “and I can’t lie and tell you that Tora isn’t a tad too big for his boots sometimes. But you can’t just argue with him all the time.”

“...he started it?” Mikhail tried, knowing before the words came out of his mouth that they wouldn’t cut it for Mòrag. She only let out a hollow laugh in response.

“Children, both of you,” she said. “Just don’t let him taunt you. I can assure you that the blade bots are a fine piece of work, or we wouldn’t be fighting them.” Mikhail almost responded with an indignant comment that he didn’t need her to tell him that, but he felt like she’d probably thrown him a bone with getting away from Tora anyway.

“Well thanks, I guess,” he said. And hey, maybe one day he’d get the chance to rebuild what he was currently destroying. Time would tell and all that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot take but the reason Torna's tone is consistent and its characters likeable is because none of them are Nopon


	6. Poppi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppi drags Mikhail out to run errands with her.

Mikhail had just about thought that maybe he’d snatch a couple of hours away from the manic rushing around that was the group every time they entered a city (this time it was Fonsa Myma, which came with all kinds of complications Mikhail was very happy to sit out of), but that was when Poppi, of all people, decided to interrupt him.

“Will Mikhail come with Poppi?” She asked, bobbing up and down a little. “Poppi have errands to run around city and at theatre. Probably better if Mikhail come too.”

“I, ah-” If the theatre was anything like how it was the last time Malos and Akhos were in Uraya, the theatre was exactly the last place he should be going at the moment. “I can’t, Poppi. Sorry.”

“But Poppi need adult supervision,” she said, looking up at him with that expression and that tone of voice that no one, not even Brighid could resist and...ugh. It was risky, but maybe he could do it. He’d just have to stay out of trouble. Which was fine! He had Poppi to look after. He couldn’t go chasing pretty theatre girls anyway.

“Fine, fine!” He said, and thankfully Poppi turned off the guilt trip and beamed at him. “What are you doing?” Maybe he could even avoid the theatre part, if that was a part that didn’t need him there for it. 

“Poppi have extensive list of objectives for this evening,” she said. “Should buy hand cream for Mòrag and Brighid, fishies for Pyra cooking, bread for tomorrow meals, drinks for Zeke, and snacks for Masterpon. Masterpon specifically request Champ’s Churros, and when Rex hear, he ask Poppi to give medicine from Mor Ardain to theatre man.”

Right. Well, as long as he avoided the last bit, it would probably be fine. There was no reason not to help Poppi, even if he had been looking forward to finally getting some alone time. “Let’s get going, then,” he said. “Should we start up at the theatre? I’ll buy the churros while you head in and give the old man his medicine.”

Poppi cheered and started to make her way up the stairs towards the theatre. Fonsa Myma was a great city to spend time in, but not with a child. She changed direction way too quickly to keep up with, and it was only the long sets of stairs that meant he could find her again. In no time at all, Poppi had made her way up to the theatre, and Mikhail headed over to the sweet stall to buy the churros Tora wanted.

“Mikhail not coming in?” Poppi asked, watching him. Architect, she knew that he didn’t want to go in, didn’t she?

“I can’t, kiddo,” he said. “Long story and all, but I don’t think the owner of the theatre would be all that pleased to see me. I’ll be right out here, so you can go ahead and hand it to him.”

“Poppi understand,” she said. “Mikhail is scared of old man Cole.”

“I am not,” he said firmly, though he sort of was. Cole was the name Minoth had taken once he left everything behind, and Mikhail didn’t want to see him again. Not after everything that had happened. He didn’t even know if the man would recognise him anymore. He didn’t fancy facing up to even more of his past, either way.

“Scaredy Mikhail wait here then,” Poppi said, turning to go into the theatre. Mikhail was very, very glad to see her come back out again and to be able to move on to all the other chores Poppi had dragged him out to do.

Spending time with just Poppi wasn’t too bad, really. She was a sweet kid, but surprisingly competent considering her maker, so it wasn’t really too much extra effort to make sure she wasn’t getting herself into trouble. She was almost fun to be around, really. She didn’t seem to hold a grudge about the past like a lot of Rex’s group did.

Of course, when they were nearly done, she decided to ruin his relatively good mood. “Mikhail could apologise to Pyra,” she said, completely out of the blue in just a brief break in the conversation.

“I- what?” He asked, hoping that maybe she’d drop it, knowing that she wouldn’t. He knew exactly what this was about, and Poppi probably knew all about it because Pyra would have said something. Argh.

“Mikhail should apologise for making Pyra sad,” Poppi said. “Pyra not have many happy things to smile about. Should not give her more sad things to frown about.”

Mik sighed. He didn’t really expect Poppi to understand the intricacies of what had happened. She was just a kid, and honestly? He didn’t want her to ever understand the emotions that had brought him to the conclusion that the world and everyone in it should be destroyed. And he didn’t want her to understand what had made Pyra sad, either. “It’s a bit more complicated than just an apology,” he said.

“Mikhail will need to explain to Poppi,” she said. “Poppi will not let Mikhail go back to inn until he agree to apologise.” Well, great. Now he was a hostage. And when Poppi said things like that, she tended to mean it.

“Okay,” he said, trying to think of a way to phrase it that would make sense without going into the full story. “So all of us, we’re a team, right?” Poppi nodded. “And the most important person in the world for you is Tora.”

Poppi nodded fervently. “Poppi would not know what to do without Masterpon,” she said. “Time with Masterpon very important to Poppi.”

“Okay, so we’re in a dangerous situation, fighting something, and Tora is injured. Someone steps up and says that, no matter what, they’ll protect Tora.” Poppi nodded. “And you trust them, because you trust these guys. They’re great people. But something goes wrong, and Tora dies. And then the person who promised to protect him abandons you, and everything just gets worse.”

Poppi was sniffling slightly. Aw, hell. He hadn’t wanted to upset her. The whole point of the distant comparison was that he wouldn’t upset her. “That sound awful,” Poppi said.

“It was,” Mikhail said, bending down looking her straight in the eyes. “The person who promised to protect the person I was closest to was Mythra, and that’s why I can’t apologise yet. I might, in the future. But now, it’s not really on the cards.”

Poppi nodded, glancing down at her feet. “Poppi sorry,” she said, and then she stood on her tiptoes and patted him on the head. Ah, Architect, how could he not smile after that? Poppi was far too precious for her own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Poppi is such a joy!!


	7. Mòrag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail wants to find out if Mòrag's outfit is more practical than it looks, but she doesn't appreciate the distraction in battle.

“Hey Mòrag!” Mikhail called, easily dodging round the jaws of the Volff in front of him.

“Not now, Mikhail,” she barked back, her left whip tangling around the ankle of one of the other beasts in front of them. Spoilsport.

“How do you even move in that thing?” He called, completely ignoring what she’d said. He knew Mòrag could talk and fight at the same time, seeing as she shouted out all that stuff to Brighid. There was so much yelling involved in fighting, surely that yelling could involve a conversation now and then.

“By focusing,” she said, turning away from him and slamming both whips into the back of the Volff he was fighting. It collapsed on the ground, and he moved on to distracting the eyes of the next one. This was easy; child’s play. Barely needed any effort at all.

“Surely you could wear something a little less flashy?” He asked. A long coat with tails could get caught anywhere, and with how the flaps caught wind, Mikhail wouldn’t be surprised if it slowed Mòrag down.

“This isn’t just combat gear, you know,” Mòrag said, and this time her strike came dangerously close to Mikhail. If he was smart, he’d keep his mouth shut from now on. But, fortunately, he wasn’t smart in any way, shape, or form, so he was going to keep talking.

“Oh I know,” he said, jumping over to the next monster, just about dodging past Mòrag’s second strike on the previous target. He’d ended up with his back to her, which wasn’t the smartest move, but he hoped she wouldn’t stab an ally in the back. “Ardainian combat armour hasn’t changed much in the last few centuries. Your stuff looks completely different.”

“It must be recognisable,” Mòrag explained. “On top of that, it has to be light, easy to move in, suitable for formal events, and practical. It combines the usual formal wear of Ardainian noblemen with these qualities.”

“See, you don’t have to focus completely on the battle,” he said with a grin. Mòrag made a decidedly disgusted sound. “Sounds like you do a whole lot of stuff that’s just really boring.”

“If you really wanted to discuss my role, you should ask me outside of combat,” Mòrag said firmly, and this time Mikhail had to jump out of the way to avoid her whips coming down on top of him. And it was a dirty trick, because as a consequence, she caught the Volff directly and it fell down, leaving the area clear.

“Well I can now,” he said, pulling himself out of his battle posture and sheathing his weapons. “So why does the Ardainian Special Inquisitor do all the work now?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Mòrag asked. “If you wanted to pull your weight in battle, I’m sure you’d do so fantastically if you stopped trying to turn every situation into an inappropriate conversation.”

“Oh, you wound me,” he said, striking a pose briefly. “I meant the business of the Empire and all of that. Back in my day, the Emperor wielded Brighid. And Aegaeon, for that matter, but it seems he’s as much of a nonentity as he always was. But it seems you do that as Special Inquisitor, and you attend formal events.”

“Running an empire is a tricky business,” Mòrag said, a proud note entering her voice. Of course; the current Emperor was related to her in some way, if he recalled everything correctly. “My brother attends to most matters of state. I fight on behalf of him here.”

“Brother, huh?” Mikhail asked. He really wasn’t up on current Ardainian affairs, apparently. “Back during the Aegis War, the person who wielded the blades was the ruler of the country, male or female, and the eldest got priority anyway. What gives?”

“It may surprise you to hear this, Mikhail,” Mòrag said, biting sarcasm already evident in her tone, “but sometimes things change over the course of the centuries. My brother is an Ardanach, and he entrusted Aegaeon to me. That is why I wield both the imperial blades.”

“I just think it’s interesting,” he said. “In the past, the Emperor of Mor Ardain always fought on the front lines, fighting for his people. Do you think they should still do that?”

“I am not at liberty to make a moral judgement on the position of His Majesty,” Mòrag said firmly. “But as his sister, I would rather he stay behind in Mor Ardain with an army to protect him. I am sure you are well aware of the fate of many Emperors who fought on the front lines for their people.”

He’d seen it firsthand, but he wasn’t going to say that. Mostly because thinking about then made him feel so bitter, and he’d been doing a good job on working towards not hating everything in the last few weeks. “Did you go over what the Special Inquisitor used to do, during the Aegis War?” He asked.

“No,” Mòrag said, her tone turning decidedly curious. “It was hardly relevant at the time; I did not study specifically for my role, only a few background elements.”

“You know the sergeants with the silly pointy hats?” Mikhail asked, and Mòrag shot him a look, but everyone knew those things looked dumb. Mòrag just wasn’t allowed to admit it. “It was like that, but with a really boring red trimmed uniform. It wasn’t nearly as flattering as yours.”

“Cut the flattery,” Mòrag said firmly. “And stop the winking, Architect!”

Mikhail grinned at her and stretched his palms upwards, hoping to convey that he was giving the Architect a moment to strike him down before he winked at her again. She scowled. “Aw, don’t be like that!” He said. “Anyway, the old Inquisitor did nothing. Stood around while everyone else did all the work.”

“That’s...disappointing,” Mòrag said. “I suppose, given the title, it was likely more ceremony than anything else for a fair while.”

“Yet you still have a better outfit,” Mikhail said. Mòrag gave him a warning look. “It’s snazzier!” He said, attempting to defend himself from her inevitable wrath. “All I meant was it looks cooler. Though I’m not sure how much the coat tails add to your manoeuvrability.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mòrag said, tipping her hat, but then she walked off. Damn her and her mysterious ways. She was far cooler than she had any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn I don't think I've ever really tried writing Mòrag much in a non-gay setting before. Wild


	8. Brighid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail sees some perfume in a shop that reminds him of a time long past.

Okay, Mikhail reasoned, maybe he was a bit of a sap who had more than a small amount of nostalgia for the past. But he couldn’t help it, really. The details of that time stuck out like stars in the sky for him, and he couldn’t get rid of them if he wanted to, the good nor the bad. And that left memories jumping out at him all over the place, until he ended up in this particular position.

It was really dumb; a perfume he recognised the scent of. You would think his brain had a filter for these kinds of things, because he’d smelled quite a lot of stuff in the course of five hundred years. But no, this one in particular stood out to him.

He remembered the event clearly; sitting around the campfire in the evening, sleepily swinging his legs as he listened to the sound of Mythra and Addam bickering about something; whatever it was hadn’t resonated with him at the time. Brighid had been stirring a liquid in a pot, adding a flower every so often, and talking to Minoth about it. The smell had stuck with him, apparently.

He hadn’t smelt anything like it in five hundred years, and yet...there it was, in the corner of the back shelf on a run down stall. The ingredients were Gormotti, obviously, or the perfume would have long gone past its best. Mikhail had bought it without thinking, which led him to…

“‘Perfume for a lovely lady’? Mikhail, have some self respect,” Brighid said, her voice full of disdain. He laughed, because he knew that would be the reaction. He didn’t know why he’d even attempted to hope for any recognition of it; of course she’d forgotten.

“Ah, but you like it, don’t you?” He asked, and watched with a bit of satisfaction as Brighid turned the bottle over in her hands once, twice, and then opened it before wafting the scent towards her. She smiled slightly.

“It is a nice perfume,” she said, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Seemed like he wasn’t off the hook just yet. “How did you know I liked this type?”

“I just have a way with beautiful women?” He suggested, knowing that he deserved the glare he received in return. “I recognised the scent,” he admitted. “You used to make something very similar a long time ago, and so I bought it.”

“Gifts get you nowhere,” she reminded him, as if he didn’t know that. Getting that rare smile out of her was what he’d been aiming for.

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” he said. “It worked the last three times.” He put on a casual air, looking elsewhere as Brighid’s attention snapped firmly to his words.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

He laughed. “It never happened,” he said, “I was just pulling your leg. I’ve fought you many times, but we didn’t speak in those occasions. Well, not like this, anyway. Not so...intimately.”

“You make having conversation with you very difficult, Mikhail,” Brighid said. “But then, I believe that means nothing’s really changed over the last few centuries. It’s just that the methods have been altered rather significantly.”

He very nearly lost his cool there; either Mythra had been telling tales about him again, or Brighid had written about him in her journal, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. But his curiosity won out. “You wrote about that time, I suppose?” He asked.

“Of course,” she said, sounding almost offended at the suggestion that she didn’t. “There is, however, no account of anything after leaving ‘the two children’ in the inn. From then on, there is nothing. Not for another twenty five years.”

Mikhail shrugged. “I don’t know what happened,” he lied. “I had more important things to worry about than where Addam’s Ardainian friend with no tastebuds had gone.” He remembered very vividly the lightshow that had killed Torna, the scene that had awaited him when they were on the ship. But he didn’t want to recount that one; he was used to just not talking about it.

“You would say that, being Tornan,” Brighid said, and Mikhail didn’t have the heart to nitpick over the tiny detail that he wasn’t from Torna. “Ardainian tastes are perhaps not as unrefined as you think they are.”

“Did you ever write anything about Mythra’s cooking five hundred years ago?” Mikhail asked, and the face Brighid pulled was absolutely priceless. “Hugo ate that without batting an eye. It was inedible, but he could stomach it just like any other meal.”

“He was a brave man,” Brighid said, and when Mikhail started laughing she actually joined in. He felt like he was working magic here. “What was he like? What was I like?”

Mikhail had never been a fan of talking about his past, but, well, he knew how important this could be to blades. Especially someone like Brighid who had so much history that was only just out of her reach. “Only if you tell me what you wrote in your journal about me,” he said.

“Consider it a deal,” she said. “Once you tell me, that is.”

“Hugo was tiny,” Mikhail said. “Which is something, seeing as I was pretty small back then too. He was barely taller than me, which really sticks out when you’re surrounded by people like Addam and Jin.”

“Cut to the point, Mikhail,” Brighid said. Well, he thought she’d wanted a description, but okay.

“He was softly spoken, and more reserved than Addam was,” he said, “but just as brave. They were both really dedicated and just wanted to help their people and all of that. He always talked about how much he loved Mor Ardain. He was also quite unassuming, so he’d often get to experience the world without people recognising him as the man with the status he didn’t really want.”

“He did not want to be Emperor?” She asked. “He always performed his duties with such vigour, at least in my accounts.”

“He did,” Mikhail said, though he’d never actually bothered to find out what Hugo’s duties were. It had never mattered. “But only because you and Aegaeon were always there to help him. You were always very focused, you never took any nonsense. You’re a lot...nicer, now, honestly.”

“Jin told me I was the same,” she said.

“Sure, mostly,” he said with a shrug. “It’s like talking to the same person, but you know them a bit better, except you don’t know me better at all.” He’d barely spoken to Brighid, back when they were in the same group. But that was because she kept her distance. Now, she was much nicer to everyone.

“I wrote that you were a quiet child,” Brighid said, “and I was concerned about you getting in the way. I didn’t understand why you were there and I was annoyed that Lora was allowed to bring you along. I wrote of a brief encounter we had when Lora was not around, but I imagine you have a better idea of what happened there than I did.”

He did. He knew exactly what she was referring to, in fact. He wasn’t going to go ahead and divulge the details to her, though. “Did that answer your question properly?” He asked. Honestly, what Brighid said about him there didn’t surprise him, but it didn’t exactly change his opinion of Brighid. She had changed a lot.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you, Mikhail. But in the future, you can keep the perfume to yourself; Lady Mòrag is allergic to the pollen used in this one.”


	9. Zeke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeke talks to Mikhail about the use of his ancestors' name.

"I could never agree with the name of your little group, you know," Zeke said. Mikhail looked up - it wasn't like the man was likely to be speaking to anyone else.

"Why not?" He asked. He knew what the reply would be; he'd recognise an accent like that anywhere. They even looked similar. Hell, he'd seen Tantalese kids in the last couple of days and they still wore the same shitty rags they wore five centuries ago.

"It's Torna!" He said.

"I'm aware."

"Well, we Tantalese are descended from Tornans," Zeke said. "It's always been said that my family were descended from Addam himself."

"Addam's descendants went to Leftheria," Mik said, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. There was no real successor to Torna, not anymore. It had been buried by the ages. "And I'd say five hundred years is long enough to develop your own national identity."

"It doesn't change that it's blatant disrespect of my ancestors," Zeke said. "Naming a terrorist group after a destroyed nation is a little in bad taste, isn't it?"

"It was a warning," he said. "The name wasn't for you, or for most people, really." It was for Indol; specifically Amalthus. Telling him that there were people around who hadn't forgotten what he did. People who never would.

"Why not name yourselves something flashier, then?" Zeke asked. "Ultimate world destroyers? There was something Malos called himself too - something to do with an endbringer."

Mik really didn't feel like discussing alternative names for the only family he'd had who were no longer there beside him. "Yeah, he did," he managed. Malos had been so sure of that; he had been created to destroy so that's what he would do. "Torna got a point across. People who hadn't forgotten how the world was meant to be."

"And you think that's what the Tornans would have wanted?" Zeke asked. The exaggerated fury in his voice was gone, replaced by something decidedly sad. Perhaps wistful.

Mikhail could only laugh bitterly. "I'm the only Tornan left," he said. "Counting Jin, there were only two of us, even before. And only five in the whole of Alrest who even remembered Torna. If that doesn't leave me as qualified to speak on behalf of them, I don't know what does."

Zeke thought for a moment, and then he nodded. "I can see where you're coming from," he said, staring into the distance for a while. He stayed there, doing nothing, the pair of them just sitting in silence. It wasn't tense silence like it had been between him and Zeke before. Then he leaned over, put a hand on Mik's shoulder for a moment, and then left. 

Mikhail couldn't help but smile slightly at that. Maybe they'd come to some kind of understanding. Maybe Zeke was more tactful than he was letting on.

-

"Go on, pal, indulge my curiosity," Zeke said one evening. "What was Torna like? Old Torna, that is."

"You'd be better off asking Mythra," he said. "She'll remember it better." He hadn't exactly enjoyed his time in Torna. He wouldn't be able to say what Zeke was looking for.

"I've already asked her," he said. "She said it was dry. And that the people were all saps."

Mikhail laughed. Well, she wasn't wrong. "Sounds about right," he said. "It was just like any other place, really. Some people were good. Others were not so good. Some were rich, some were poor." Some saw nothing wrong with buying children as slaves, or burning villages.

"That's really not very helpful, chum," Zeke said. "What was living with your family like, then? Before everything happened."

Mikhail could only let out a short laugh. Architect damnit, why did it still hurt? "I didn't have a family and I didn't come from Torna," he said. "So maybe try again." He didn't mind talking to Zeke. He felt like Zeke respected him enough to leave things alone when he wanted him to.

"How did you end up in Torna, then?" He asked.

"You really don't want to know." A question he'd...never really answered for anyone, really. Sometimes it felt like the foggy details in his head weren't even real. "It was a long time ago."

“Fair enough, pal,” Zeke said. “But things changed when you met Addam? He swept you away from a parentless early life into a world of wonder and excitement?” Zeke’s passion was slightly hilarious, as always.

“Not quite,” he said. “More like I changed from being in one place all the time to seeing half of the titan, which was nice. And I suppose it was pretty exciting.” Okay, it had been very exciting, because he remembered the feeling of seeing the desert for the first time. Sand as far as the eye could see. It was incredible.

“And what about Addam?” He asked. It was always about Addam with these people, apparently. First Rex and now Zeke. Addam had been cool, sure, but a legendary hero? Mikhail wasn’t so confident on that one. “Was he the coolest, bravest hero in all of Torna?”

“Some would say that,” he said. “People really loved Addam. He-”

“You say that like he wasn’t the best!” Zeke exclaimed, and that was pretty much exactly what he was saying. He understood that Zeke clearly loved Addam, but this was unnecessary on a whole new level. “If he wasn’t the best, who was?”

“It’s a matter of opinion,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too exasperated. “People loved Addam. He didn’t mean so much to me. I knew someone who idolised him blindly, said there could never be any harm that came to us as long as Addam was there to protect us.”

“And there was an inkling of truth in that, wasn’t there?” Zeke asked, and Architect he was like a little kid on this topic. Every other time he spoke to Zeke, he was a bit over the top but otherwise a perfectly normal and decent guy. This was clearly a touchy subject for him.

“Addam could fight,” Mikhail said, “but it didn’t save that kid. It’s better to look ahead and be something you want to be rather than idolising something from the past.”

“And that’s why you named your little group Torna, then,” Zeke said. Mikhail laughed - he took the point. Holding onto the past was probably fine. Holding on to someone good in the past was also fine, and it wasn’t like Addam was a bad person to look up to. And maybe...maybe there were things in the past that he needed to move on from. Just a bit.


	10. Pandoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail noticed that there's something up with Pandoria's core crystal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never really written Pandoria before - I hope she turned out okay!

The missing chunk from Pandoria’s core crystal had been bothering him for a while. It wasn’t quite the same as what he’d seen in the past, but...there was something off about it. Every crystal he could recall was symmetrical, or at least a regular shape. Pandoria’s was missing a small triangle, and he couldn’t be anything but concerned upon learning that.

The chance to sit down and talk to Pandoria didn’t come very often. They’d had an agreeable relationship past the time when she yelled at him to stop flirting with her, but they didn’t talk that often. She was usually off doing whatever she and Zeke did when they stopped for an evening, which was probably choreography.

The opportunity came eventually, however, when the group stopped off in Alba Cavanich for an evening. Most of the group were off in the palace, which Mikhail understandably was not meant to enter, so he was left alone with Pandoria in the inn. “Say, Pandoria,” he said, ever a master of subtlety, “did you and Zeke ever spend much time in Indol?”

“Oh, a ton,” she said. “We worked for Indol for years. Reconnaissance, a bit of fighting, whatever really. Of course, we wouldn’t have done it if we’d known what was going on with Tantal. It was all a huge mess.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” he muttered. Indol had been corrupt and untrustworthy for hundreds of years, if not longer. But people never learned. “Were you-” he made the shape of the triangle chunk missing from Pandoria’s core with his fingers. “Did that happen in Indol?”

“You noticed?” She asked, glancing down at her core crystal. It took the shape of a circuit board, but...Mikhail knew there was a segment missing. “Yup. That was in Indol. How did you know?”

“And here I thought everyone had received the full run-down,” he said with a laugh. Pandoria shook her head immediately.

“Honestly, I don’t think anyone knows why you’re actually here,” she said. “Maybe Nia has a clue, or Rex and Pyra. But the rest of us are totally in the dark.”

Huh. That was actually sort of nice of Pyra and Mythra, not to spill all his secrets to the rest of the world. “Well, the short of it is that I don’t have a driver because I’m a blade eater,” he said. Pandoria’s eyes lit up with recognition at the term. “This core crystal was resonated directly with my body or...something. Indol are the only people I know of who play around with that technology, so it didn’t take much of a jump.”

“That’s...completely different to what happened to us,” Pandoria said. “We were attacked. Bandits, actually. They nearly took my Prince out, but an Indoline envoy found us collapsed in the forest. And to save his life, they had to do that.” She pointed to her core crystal.

“Huh,” he said. It was a...surprisingly benevolent side of Indol that he hadn’t really seen before. Of course, they had got something out of it, but practising blade eater technology on a random kid picked up off the ground when they had no idea he’d be useful? He found it almost hard to believe that Indol hadn’t known who Zeke was. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that my experience was the opposite of pleasant.”

“It sounds painful,” she said, looking pretty concerned. Which was exactly why he hadn’t spoken about it before and probably shouldn’t have brought it up this time. “And...what about the blade who was inside?”

“I don’t remember the science,” he said with a shrug, though he remembered every word that had been said around him when they were running all the tests after the resonance had settled down. It had latched on to his memory and he couldn’t get the words to just let go and leave him be, sometimes. “But I never saw or spoke to the blade from the core crystal. And who knows what’ll happen to the core when I die.”

“When Zeke dies, my core should regenerate,” Pandoria says. “It didn’t really seem like it had any downsides, really.”

“Did you want to do it?” He asked. It was probably a stupid question, because Pandoria was utterly devoted to Zeke. There was nothing that would stop her from being at his side; that much, Mikhail had seen clearly already.

But, to his surprise, Pandoria thought about it. “I didn’t feel like I had much choice, at the time,” she said. “I was getting weaker by the minute, and I had to make the decision quickly. But he was suffering so much, and he couldn’t pull himself into consciousness. It was...the first time I had to make a decision like that on my own. But all I wanted was to see him happy again. If I hadn’t agreed, I wouldn’t have, and it was as simple as that.”

That was...really sweet, honestly. Sometimes, when Akhos and Patroka had spoken about their drivers in rare times one of them (usually Akhos) was feeling sentimental, Mikhail wondered if he’d been missing out, not having a driver. Then again, he wasn’t strictly a blade, either. But in a world where everyone around him had a driver or a blade, he felt oddly out of place.

“I’m glad I did it,” Pandoria said. “If it had taken more from me, even. I just wanted him to live. Being my Prince’s blade is a privilege and I love the moments we spend together. If I had to die alongside him, I don’t think that’d be too bad.”

“Dying seems just peachy at the time,” Mikhail said. When he’d thought he was dying, he hadn’t really had any regrets. Sometimes he caught himself regretting he wasn’t dead, even. But not times like this. “But I think living on is a good option. You were able to save someone you loved, which is a pretty good action regardless.”

“So much for hating everyone,” Pandoria said, a sly grin on her face. Architect, why was she bringing that up? He’d been so sleep deprived when all of that was going on, honestly, and high on adrenaline. He barely even remembered what he’d been thinking when he said that stuff.

“Shut up,” he said, shoving her in the shoulder. “I said, didn’t I? The world sucks, but destroying it sucks more.”

“You’re not such a pessimistic brooder after all,” she said with a laugh. “You asked about the core crystal because you were concerned, weren’t you?”

“Not at all!” He protested. He had been concerned. “Thought I’d check that you weren’t, I dunno, Indoline spies or something.”

“You’re a good kid, Mikhail,” she said. “No amount of witty derisive comments are going to persuade me of anything else, and you bet I’m going to tell everyone else that you’re actually a huge softie.”

“I- I’m five hundred years old!”

“Sure you are,” she said with a wink. “A five hundred year old softie.”


	11. Mythra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail can't sleep. Out on the flight deck in Argentum, he has an encounter with Mythra.

It was really late at night in Argentum, and Mikhail wasn’t going to pretend that he was even trying to get to sleep anymore. So he’d got out of bed and left the inn and now...he was alone. And it was pretty quiet, seeing as it was Argentum and it was always bustling in some way. At this time of night, at least, no stranger would come up and talk to him about selling their wares.

After a little while, he made his way over to the fish shop outside the inn, because it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and he grabbed some tempura because...it was a habit, he supposed. It had always eased the frown on Jin’s face when he brought some back.

Architect, he wasn’t in the best of moods tonight. Battered fish in hand, he ascended the set of steps in front of him and made his way out onto the flight deck. It was almost completely deserted, but he made his way out to the furthest point anyway. Tonight was definitely a ‘watching the stars and the sea and trying not to be crushed by despair’ kind of night.

The slight chill of the night air was...good, he supposed. It meant he couldn’t fall asleep, at least. But he did feel a bit numb, sitting out here, and at some point he’d finished the fish but he didn’t remember when. He gently tore the paper it had been held in into pieces and let the breeze pull them away.

“Mind if I join you?” A familiar voice asked, and he very nearly jumped out of his skin. Mythra. So she’d followed him up here, or maybe- he’d definitely been out here too long for her to have followed him. So she couldn’t sleep, either.

“Sure,” he said, shuffling a little to the side so she could sit at the end of the deck without being too close to him. “I must say, it’s not a bad night for insomnia.”

“Could be worse,” she agreed, and then they lapsed into silence. Uncomfortable silence. Deeply, infuriatingly uncomfortable silence. The last time they’d been alone together, he’d- he’d been pretty angry at her, really. He’d said all those things that he didn’t exactly regret, but...who was he kidding? He regretted all of it.

It had been stupid, and emotional, and maybe he did feel that way. But there was nothing worse when you were suffering than to inflict that pain on someone else. Pyra and Mythra had found a life that was a lot better for them, here, a lot happier, and they’d taken him in to that life and he’d just insulted them. Attempted to spurn that gift for the sake of protecting his shattered pride.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Because he was sorry that he’d upset her. He didn’t like hurting people, no matter what he said to others about his words or his nature or whatever. And it was grating on him, knowing that Pyra and Mythra were there all the damn time and he just never said anything.

“You’re what?” Mythra asked, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“Oh Architect, don’t make me say it again,” he said. “I said I’m sorry. About before, when I yelled at you. It was sort of a dick move.”

“Well you meant it,” she said with a shrug. “Didn’t you? That you couldn’t forgive what I did so long ago.”

“Well, yes-” he said.

“Then you don’t have to apologise,” she said immediately, not even letting him finish. “You’re allowed to hold hard feelings. The same way that you shouldn’t expect Rex to forgive you for when you attacked us.”

“Sure,” he said, even though Rex had already said he’d forgiven him. He wasn’t really looking for forgiveness, anyway, because he’d been doing the right thing, in his eyes. They’d needed that information to achieve their goals and that was fine. “I’m apologising anyway. Not for feeling like that, but for hurting you with the words.”

“So does it still hurt, after five hundred years?” She asked. And under any other circumstance, with anyone else, Mikhail wouldn’t answer that question. It was too personal. But with Mythra…

“Not every day,” he said. “Well, not that specific thing. Five hundred years is a lot of missed opportunities, a lot of things gone wrong. Sometimes I’m sad about the boy I didn’t kiss before he went off to serve in the Ardainian army. But sometimes…”

“Sometimes it’s Milton,” she said, her voice low. Mikhail nodded.

“You probably knew him better than I did,” he admitted, almost managing to get a sheepish smile to creep onto his face. “I only knew him for a short while, compared to you. But he was-”

“He was bright, and always cheerful, and people hung off his every word because he was so playful and genuine,” she said. “He understood people, and what made them tick, and he always knew exactly what to do to get them to feel better, or at least more human, without you ever telling him.”

“Yeah,” he managed. Just hearing someone talk about him again after so long hurt. It hurt so much, remembering that he was gone, and when he and Mythra were gone...by that point, no one else would really remember him. Maybe Brighid’s diary held a couple of words, but he wouldn’t be important to her.

“I really am sorry for what happened,” she said. “I don’t know how I knew, when that blast hit, but-”

“I know,” he said. “And I- I don’t know if I forgive you, or anything, it’s a bit early for saying all that, but...I know you didn’t mean to do it. That if you’d been able to prevent it, you would have. I don’t- I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness, honestly,” she said. “I just want to be able to move on, some day. To be able to live a happier life without the regret holding me down.”

“Sure as hell would be nice,” he mused. He’d spent...he’d spent a long time letting the past dictate his future. Amalthus had done this, Amalthus had done that, he had to pay for what he’d done...it had consumed his life for a long time, when really, at the time, he’d just been a kid. And he’d had a full life ahead of him that he squandered on trying to destroy it rather than just live it.

Furiously, he scrubbed at the tears that were forming on his face. He shouldn’t let this get to him, damn it. Heartfelt conversations in the middle of the night just weren’t his style. “It’s okay to be sad,” Mythra said. “Hey, at least it means we still feel something for this world.”

Mythra put an arm around his shoulders, and after a moment of hesitation, Mikhail returned the hug. He felt like it was about four hundred and ninety four years overdue, but...it was good. A step forward. Maybe he wouldn’t be so angry anymore, now they could work on putting those events behind them.

A few minutes later, Mythra pulled away. “So, we’re agreeing never to speak of this to anyone else ever again?”

“You read my mind.” And yeah, he still had a long way to go before he could feel happy again. But with all these lovable idiots around, he finally felt like he was heading in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand it's done! This last chapter is so melancholic aaaah. Thank you to everyone who's been reading this. As I wrote this my list of ideas for this game just kept piling up higher and higher so even though content for the game is done, I will not be abandoning writing for this any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) if you enjoyed or have any feedback, please leave a comment to let me know, it really does mean a lot!


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